Every instinct told me to run back inside.
But I remembered Mom's face.
You need to leave before he comes downstairs.
So I turned away from the only home I had ever known and walked into the cold night.
I had no idea that it would be the last peaceful night Richard ever spent in that house.
Chapter Two: The Motel Room
The motel was six blocks from the grocery store, beside a gas station and a closed diner.
It was the cheapest room I could find without having to show a credit card I didn't own.
The receptionist barely looked at me when I paid for one night with cash.
I dragged my suitcase down a narrow corridor and unlocked a door that smelled of disinfectant and old carpet.
Inside were a bed, a small television, a plastic chair, and a window facing the parking lot.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the envelope Mom had given me.
For a long time, I couldn't bring myself to open it.
I was angry.
I was frightened.
And underneath those feelings was a small, humiliating hope that Mom would call and tell me to come home.
My phone remained silent.
I called her once.
It rang until voicemail answered.
I called again.
Nothing.
Finally, I sent a message.
Mom, I'm at a motel near work. Please tell me what's happening. I won't come home if that's what you want, but I need to know you're okay.
The message showed as delivered.
No reply came.
I lay down without changing out of my clothes.
Every time I closed my eyes, I remembered the way she had looked at the staircase.
Someone had been upstairs.
Someone had been listening.
I thought about the crash I'd heard after leaving. I thought about Richard asking whether I was gone.
And then I thought about the envelope.
At nearly midnight, I finally opened it.
Inside was a folded sheet of paper and a key.
The note contained only a few sentences.
Ashley,
If you're reading this, I couldn't find a way to explain everything before you had to leave.
Please do not come home tomorrow, no matter what you hear.
Keep the key. It belongs to the storage unit near the old railway station.
Inside, you will find documents that explain everything. Do not let Richard know you have them.
I love you. I am sorry I waited so long.
Mom.
I read it three times.
The words made no sense.
What documents?
Why did Richard have to know?
Why had Mom sent me away on the night before his birthday?
And why did she sound as though she expected something terrible to happen?
I picked up the key.
A small plastic tag was attached to it. On the tag, someone had written the number 214.
I had never heard Mom mention a storage unit.
I called her again.
This time, the phone rang once before the call was disconnected.
A minute later, a message appeared.
Don't call me again tonight.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
Please forgive me.
I wanted to throw the phone against the wall.
Instead, I curled up on the bed and cried until I couldn't breathe properly.
At some point, exhaustion overcame me.
I fell asleep shortly before dawn.
I dreamed that I was five years old again, standing in the backyard while my father lifted me onto his shoulders.
In the dream, I could see the world beyond the fence.
It looked enormous and bright.
Then Richard appeared beside us, and my father put me down.
When I turned around, my father was gone.
I woke with a start.
For a few seconds, I didn't know where I was.
Then the truth returned.
I was eighteen years old, alone in a motel room, and my mother had told me never to return home.
I checked my phone.
There were no messages from her.
But there was one missed call from an unfamiliar number.
I called it back.
A recorded voice answered.
It was the local police department's non-emergency line.
My stomach tightened.
I sat up and checked the time.
It was 7:12 a.m.
Richard's birthday party was scheduled for two o'clock that afternoon.
I showered, changed into my work clothes, and tried to convince myself that there had to be a reasonable explanation.
Maybe Richard had discovered something embarrassing about the family.
Maybe Mom had made a decision she regretted.
Maybe the party had been canceled.
I didn't know.
All I knew was that I couldn't spend the entire day staring at my phone.
So I went to work.
Chapter Three: The Call at Two O'Clock
The grocery store was busy that morning.
People came in for breakfast supplies, weekend groceries, and flowers. A little boy cried because his mother wouldn't buy him a chocolate bar. Two elderly women argued good-naturedly about which apples were sweeter.
Ordinary life continued around me.
I envied everyone who seemed to know where they belonged.
My supervisor, Linda, noticed that I was distracted.
"You okay, Ashley?"
I forced a smile.